


Fire and Blood

by dragonswoe



Category: Game of Thrones (TV), Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-22
Updated: 2017-12-28
Packaged: 2019-01-21 13:55:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12459180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonswoe/pseuds/dragonswoe
Summary: After the war against Gaea, Percy gets a moment of peace. Apparently, peace means that the Primordials make entertainment out of Kronos' punishment. It's not like Percy can complain, watching the now-mortal Kronos struggle through the world of Game of Thrones is definitely entertaining. But of course, eventually things start going wrong and the Primordials soon realise their mistake.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story is co-created by Fates Moonlight Demon (on fanfiction) who doesn't have an A03 account.

It's only when the immortal flashes into the pavilion that the demigods act on high alert.

If they were under attack, they would have all been killed before they could raise a weapon against the man – that's as much as Percy knows. An instant later, another bright flash blinds them, notifying them of another immortal visiting.

Percy doesn't recognise them, something which increasingly comes to worry him. He's seen pretty much all of the friendly immortals, and a lot of the unfriendly ones too. Beside him, Annabeth rises from her seat, looking at them warily.

"Who are you?" Mr D demands, his eyes narrowing, purple energy sparking around his palm; ready to act if needs be.

"Someone who you do not wish to attack, godling," the first man says. Instantly, Percy crosses all of the gods off the list of possible immortals. That leaves Titan and Primordial, _both of whom aren't very good options._

"Although we were hoping to achieve the attention of my grandson," the man continues. At the blank look, the man smiles faintly, idly scanning the campers. Percy's eyes briefly catch his, noting that the stranger's eyes are a  _bright_ blue, like the clear sky above. "Zeus," the man elaborates. "My grandson is Zeus."

The list narrows down to one name. "Ouranos," Percy says in realisation, "father of the Titans."

"Why is that the first thing everyone ever comes up with?" The Primordial of the Sky winces slightly.

The other man grins and pats him on the back. "No worries, my dear brother. We still refer to you by other things too."

Ouranos glares at him, thunder booming overhead echoing across the pavilion. "Most of which are not repeatable," he rumbles, turning back to Dionysus attention. "Zeus' presence is needed," he says bluntly.

Only a few seconds later, a lightning bolt crashes down and Zeus forms, looking uncertain as to whether Ouranos and the other Primordial are enemies or allies.  _A way to make an entrance._  Ouranos thinks, rolling his eyes at his grandson.

"Ouranos," Zeus says stiffly, "we thought you couldn't form a body."

The Primordial scowls, a cloud quickly forming overhead. "Again. The first thing everyone ever says! 'Kronos this' or 'Kronos that'! What did it feel like to be scattered into the seas? Why did he do it? It felt very weird. And I was an awful father! Can we get past Kronos now?"

Sure, he was pissed that all the attention he ever got was about Kronos obliterating him. He'd kept his temper controlled for the lonely dreary centuries that passed him by. But now, it was driving him nuts and he was officially done with his son Kronos.

The other Primordial beside him coughs out of the awkwardness, extending a hand to Zeus as a warm gesture. "I'm Aether. Primordial of Light. Ignore Ouranos," his eyes flick to Ouranos' form before he sighs, looking back at Zeus. "He's always like this."

Zeus slowly shakes Aether's hand, eyes flicking back and forth between the pair. "Why are the two of you here?"

Aether grimaces. "Actually, that's part of why Ouranos is in a bad mood. It's about your father – his son – Kronos."

"I am aware of who my father is," Zeus says stiffly, his eyebrow twitches at the mention of his name. "And Kronos was scattered."

Aether smiles grimly. "Not exactly."

"Wait, what?" Percy says, the blood draining from his face at the thought of his nemesis being mentioned. "He's still alive?"

Aether sighs, shaking his head. "Not exactly."

"That makes no sense," Annabeth says, confusion written on her face. "How can he not be dead or alive?"

"Actually," Aether muses, "we're awaiting word from Chronos – the Primordial of Time, please don't confuse them, it gets Chronos into a hissy fit – about how it happened." Aether cringes inwardly at the thought of Chronos going on a mass rampage of death. "We just decided we'd come down before him."

And as if on cue, another Primordial shimmers into existence before them, not surprising any of the gods or demigods that lay in his presence. Percy's eyes are instantly drawn to this other 'primordial Kronos', noting the fact that Chronos had the same eerily similar eyes as the Titan, a timeless gold.

"Kronos is secured," he says gruffly, smoothing down his ruffled suit. "Chaos is keeping an eye on him."

"So he's alive?" Zeus demands angrily, rage boiling through his veins. "Can I kill him?" He'd whip a lightning bolt out of nowhere if he had the opportunity to bust the guts out of the  _Lord of Time_  any day.

The Primordial raises an eyebrow at Zeus. "As Aether was saying, he's alive, yet not. On Olympus, he did not die. He desperately – and very foolishly, mind you – attempted time travel." Chronos scoffs at the thought of the Titan's idiocy.

"Usually, it would work," he continues. "But part-way through the process, his conscious mind failed him, and he fell unconscious. Due to this, his body and soul were floating in the Abyss, until I located it – somewhere in the past around the age of the dinosaurs, despite him trying to travel  _forwards_  – and retrieved him. Which led to his awakening as soon as we stopped in Chaos' throne room, and trying to relieve the Creator of Everything of his head…" Chronos pauses and smiles wryly. "Needless to say, Chaos was not very impressed."

"And why have you decided to inform us?" Zeus asks sharply. "Just kill him," he bites out.

"That is not an option," Ouranos states. "If Kronos is killed, then Chronos has no one manipulating time. It is a rule that there must always be someone other than a Primordial with a domain. So Kronos must be kept alive."

"However," Aether adds, "just because he has to live doesn't mean he cannot change. This is where you come in." The proposal draws raised eyebrows from the gods, a few of the demigods perk up at the thought of such a proposal.

"Chaos wishes for you to choose one of several worlds, the chosen one is the one that Kronos will be dropped into," Chronos explains. "It will undoubtedly be very amusing and entertaining."

Zeus' attention is now clearly focused on putting Kronos through misery. "What are the options?" he questions.

"There are many different planets and galaxies out in the greater universe," Ouranos starts, "and Chaos has access to every single one of them. In this world, these other worlds and galaxies come across as dreams, as mere stories for entertainment. There is the Hunger Games universe, Harry Potter, Star Wars, Game of Thrones, and many more. Choose one, and Chaos will send Kronos there to live out a life until he has been redeemed in the Creator's eyes."

"Send him to the Hunger Games," Ares says, a smirk crawling across his face. "Make him compete." He would pay more than a hundred-thousand gold drachmas to see Kronos put through living hell.

"That was considered," Chronos remarks. "But that will encourage his actions. We wish to find a galaxy where he can choose on his own, where events may force him into certain actions. Where he can find something to live for, as far-fetched as it may seem."

"Which," Ouranos chirps in, "is why we propose the Game of Thrones world. Watching Kronos struggle through events will be highly entertaining," he begins to snicker, "and there are many opportunities for him to learn some humility throughout."

"Watching?" Percy blurts out.

The Primordial turns to him, grinning widely. "Yes, Perseus Jackson. I enjoy watching my son's actions, especially so when they cause him pain afterwards."

"As you can expect," Aether says helpfully, "Kronos and Ouranos have a mutual hate-hate relationship."

"Game of Thrones," Zeus muses, a devilish glint in his eyes. "Yes, that should be entertaining."

"Excellent," Ouranos says gleefully.

Chronos smirks, cracking his knuckles. "I will return to Chaos then." He flashes out with a sharp golden light blinding the demigods and Gods temporarily, leaving Ouranos and Aether to finish.

"I am a fan, Percy Jackson," Ouranos remarks, taking the opportunity to hold his hand out to Percy. Percy looks at it, then up to the Primordial's face then back to his hand again, hesitantly taking up Ouranos' offer and shaking his hand. "First Kronos, and then Gaea? Incredible. It's a shame I couldn't have done it myself, but Chaos said you all had to deal with it alone. Else I would have assisted in both wars." His body shimmered briefly, flickering before reforming. "Ah, I must go. I have no desire to use too much energy."

Aether tilts his head back before nodding slightly. "Yes, as must I. Chaos will ensure you can all view events as they pass." He follows Ouranos as the Primordials flash away.

Several minutes later, a screen forms above the table where Dionysus stands. Percy grins and sits back down.

"Where's my popcorn?" he laughs as the gods all summon chairs.

* * *

A plateau can be seen through the screen, a portal ripping apart the fabric of reality, and a cursing immortal appears, rolling like a sushi roll to an abrupt stop in the dystopian world that lay before him. After him, a Primordial steps out. One with eyes which change too often to be called a certain colour.

The first man brushes the dirt off his clothes, regaining his composure. "I understand your annoyance, but is shoving me through a portal truly necessary, Chaos?"

"Silence," Chaos hisses angrily.

Kronos' eyes flicker with rebellion as he draws himself up. "Go fuck yourself," he snaps. "I will do what I want. If that includes speaking until my voice gives out, then so be it."

Chaos presses two fingers to the bridge of his nose and lets out a long breath, before he turns and walks to the edge of the plateau studying the surrounding landscape, gesturing for Kronos to join him.

Kronos eyes the Creator warily, making sure he leaves at least a dozen feet between himself and the Primordial.

The pair stand on a plateau, the harsh landscape engulfed with the colour of chalk red, or it could have been blood - one couldn't tell the difference. Mountain ranges confine them from every direction, scattered across for thousands of miles. Only a speck of green can be seen, which is the closest living thing within their vicinity - a single tree. One would expect an army to be cleverly concealed within the crevasses of the mountains, but apart from that the area is deserted, nothing for miles and miles in what seems to be an uninhabited world to Kronos.

The sound of a distant crow cawing in the sky draws the pair of them out of their trance, Kronos looking towards the bird. He follows its path soaring high above the castles he's now noticed along the northern range, watching on until it is a mere speck on the horizon.

Finally, Chaos speaks. "Do you recognise where we are, Kronos?"

Black hair waves in the slight wind and Kronos stiffens, very obviously recognising where the two men are. His hands fist at his side.  _"No."_

"I'll admit that the mortals have altered the land somewhat," Chaos muses turning to Kronos, "but not enough that you cannot recognise the land in which you were born. You lie to me."

"I would not dare," Kronos remarks, the bite to his tone all too obvious.

"It's a shame," Chaos murmurs, "the war between your brothers and you which caused you to all leave Westeros and curse the earth with your presences."

"Get to the point."

"The war between the houses. The Targaryens and their dragons… the Lannisters. Don't you think it's fitting that your life starts in this world, and so too it shall end in this world."

Kronos acts quickly, drawing his weapon, but Chronos appears behind him and moves even faster, knocking the scythe out of his hand, gripping his wrist. He feels Kronos hiss beneath him out of the pain, struggling in his grasp, lashing out at him. Chronos swiftly tackles the situation, twisting Kronos' wrist until the Titan's bone cracks. Chaos remains still holding his guard, trusting Chronos to secure the Titan.

Holding Kronos' arm behind his back, Chronos forces him to his knees before Chaos. "My apologies, my friend," Chronos whispers in Kronos' ear. "But this must be done."

Chaos grimaces as he turns to face Kronos. "I turned a blind eye to your actions in eating your own children, Kronos, something which I realise only now was a mistake; I have allowed you to continue for far too long." He clasps his hands behind his back. "Until now. Kronos, you will be stripped of immortality – if you die, you shall be sentenced to eternity in the Fields of Punishment, the Void, or Tartarus – and will walk amongst mortals. It will be a trial, to see if you are yet redeemable or if Chronos must seek out another being to raise to a Titan. If you are yet worthy of the title  _Lord of Time,_ or not."

The Creator holds a hand out and Kronos' scythe skips across the stones and dust into his palm, where it shimmers before changing into a simple steel sword with a worn leather grip. Chaos drops the sword at Kronos' feet, ensuring it lands point-first.

"I'm sure you are aware that this land – the land you were born in – is being torn apart by war. Choose something to fight for, Kronos, that you truly believe in – that is all the advice I will give you."

Kronos tries to lunge for Backbiter, but Chronos easily stops him, causing the Titan to grit his teeth. "This is against the Ancient Laws," Kronos snarls.

Chaos inclines his head. "No higher being may interfere with a lower being. But I created those Laws, Kronos, and I can create different circumstances. Exceptions. Beings whom will not be stopped unless I interfere." He nods at Chronos. "Lock time away from him."

Chronos grips Kronos tighter and moves his hand to cover the Titan's mouth.  _Discomfort_  would not be the right word to describe what Kronos was going through, torture merely doesn't take the title as well. The Titan roars and writhes as golden mist floats out of his body,  _Time seeping out from him_.

Chronos releases Kronos, and Chaos grabs him instead before he can fall to the ground. Kronos stares up into Chaos' black eyes, his body shuddering violently, feeling his immortal energy being drained from him. Chaos smiles sadly as he brushes a strand of black hair out of golden eyes, admiring the helpless Titan straining against him. "I must apologise, Kronos, for what I'm about to do to you. No immortal should ever go through this, no matter who they are."

Kronos spits out a glob of ichor. "So you claim," he snarls. "Yet you've always lied to suit your own purposes."

"I have never lied to you. To others, perhaps. But never to you. I warned you and tried to help you. But you refused my help, and so you must do your penance for your crimes. In the process, others may prosper." The Primordial's eyebrows furrow together, and he moves to do the same as Chronos had.

His hand clamps over Kronos' mouth, tightening and he drags Kronos' divine energy from the depths of his being, meticulously severing the links between the Titan and immortality. Kronos' eyes roll back from the  _thorn in his heart_ , his body jerking as he tries to fight back and regain the dignity he's so desperately trying to cling onto. The muffled  _screams_  of the disgraced King echo across the land, as he flails in the fate of the agony he has been destined.

When it's done, when Kronos can no longer feel the power of immortality thrumming through his veins, Chaos has to support him as he sags; the sudden fatigue plaguing his body nearly makes him topple over. Blearily, he sees golden ichor painting Chaos' hand a stunning sheer gold. He spits onto the ground to clear his mouth of ichor and soon notices the bronze specks among the gold - bronze soon becomes red, the sign of immortality fading from his body.

The now former immortal Titan struggles for breath, despite Chaos still supporting him; he feels as if he's fought a war for years without rest, something which he knows well - the toll starting to take effect on his mortal body. Chaos supports him until his breathing evens out, until he's not labouring for every precious breath of oxygen.

Chronos holds Backbiter hilt first out to Kronos. "It would be a shame if I had to hunt down another Titan of Time, Kronos. You showed promise when you were younger. You still do, despite all you've done."

Kronos' jaw tightens, his expression murderous, his thoughts clouded with the scent of death, but he can still feel the power rippling off the two Primordials before him, acutely aware that he's only a mortal now. So he reaches out and takes his former weapon of power - at least the balance of the blade is still excellent. He's all too aware that he's barely standing on his feet as he glances at Chaos. "If I die?"

"Oh, you will," Chaos assures him. "Eventually, you will. However, the means justify the end. Maybe you'll find yourself in the Fields of Punishment, or Elysium? Maybe Tartarus again, having regained your immortality and redemption? Or the Void. All options are open to you; it depends on what you're willing to do. But death is the end for you."

And, before Kronos could respond - a furious retort forming on his lips - Chaos snaps his fingers to summon a pack, throwing it at Kronos. He grunts as the pack collides with his chest, feeling a slight pain ignite across his chest from the force it is thrown at,  _a sign of his mortality_ , before glaring at Chaos as he grabs it.

"Good luck, Kronos," the Primordial smiles down at him, before pushing the former immortal into a swirling portal forming from out of nowhere behind him, plunging Kronos into the abyss of darkness.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is co-written by Fates Moonlight Demon on fanfiction

Air whistles past his ears.

Kronos dares to open his eyes, to try to see where he is, but swiftly sees that he's dropping down from the sky with horrifying speed.  _Nope,_  he thinks, shutting his eyes again. He's not got the advantage of immortality now; a fall from… whatever height he was at would surely kill him.

_Trust Chaos to kill him before he's even started._

There's a loud thud as he collides with the ground. He groans and curls up, cursing the Primordials and any other immortal he could think of to the depths of Tartarus and back. He takes several deep breaths, realising that Chaos had ensured that he wouldn't die from that fall. Slowly, painfully, Kronos rolls to his feet. Backbiter has landed next to him, point first and the blade quivering like a pendulum; he grabs the sword before shifting through the pack Chaos had seen fit to give him.

Fortunately, there's enough food to last several days, well... if he rations properly. But there's not much else other than an unstrung bow attached to the outside, a coil of sinew for bowstring and a dozen arrows. A dagger finishes the fine collection of items given to him.

Anger swiftly sets in. The Primordials had dared to pick him up from his sleep - despite the fact that Chronos had saved his life in the process - and then dump him in the  _one_ place he never wanted to return to. Kronos wanted to plunge his dagger into Chaos' fucking heart. No, he wouldn't finish just there, he'd shove it up his asshole for good measures and  _good luck_.

Instead, he considers plunging it into his own - heart. Would Chaos really send him to the Fields of Punishment? Him? An immortal? One of the greatest immortals ever created, reduced to a mere  _mortal_?  _It was beneath him._  A hysterical laugh bubbles out of his throat, which turns into a cackle. Yet, here he was. Stuck in…  _this is Essos_ , he realises.  _Not Westeros._

"Fuck you, Chaos." Kronos hisses. He stands, directing an aggravated sigh skywards, pack and sword firmly in hand. Westeros. Essos. The land of his birth -  _how irritating_.

Grumbling to himself, Kronos scans the area around him. The area is derelict except for the shrubs and vegetation littered here and there desiccating in the heat - now black and twisted. They resembled the silhouette of demonic hands, desiring to mutilate one's soul away from them - well Kronos had relished the feeling of that already, but that was the least of his concerns yet in order to survive. A horse would be useful if he was going to get anywhere quickly. But according to the bastards that had exiled him in this world, apparently that was a luxury he wasn't permitted.

He starts walking north-east, judging his direction by the position of the sun. He forces his tiredness aside, even though with every painstaking step he takes his body screams for rest, refusing against his own wishes.  _So this is what it feels like to be mortal, pathetic._  Kronos sighs, helplessly dragging the mortal bag of meat he wears around with him like a tainted stain, decorating him for what eternity he has left to live. There's time to sleep later, but for now, he needs to move.

Hours passed, Kronos walking along a road cutting through high valleys on either side, his mind elsewhere. The valleys crawled up above him, their shadows looming across the road, warning him of their presence and their danger - rockfalls. The savage heat from the sun above was playing its game, making Kronos hallucinate as he crawled forward at an agonisingly slow pace. He passed a tree, one of its branches oddly longer than the rest. Though when he passed it, he was sure he saw he heard snickering coming up from the branches of the canopy - he turned to see Chronos and Chaos, smirks on their faces as they cackled with laughter at him.

Kronos let the wrath of his anger take over when he saw the two forms, moving at a blinding pace. He crouched to the floor to grasp a rock of any kind, or two - lobbing it at the pair to knock them out like a crow in its nest, plopping to the floor dead,  _presumably_. The rocks took flight in mid air, Kronos shutting his eyes as he threw with all his vigour. However the outcome was disappointing - the rocks landing no more than eight metres away from him, not even reaching the height of the branch.

A sudden forceful breeze swept past him, blinding him temporarily. Naturally, he covers his eyes to protect him from further danger, or the two pricks in the branch. Moments pass and there's utter silence. Kronos uncovers his eyes opening them, observing the rocks that lay before him, a  _pathetic attempt indeed_. His eyes then snap up to the branches looking for the pricks, not even finding them there. The mortal stands there, blankly staring up at the tree, then back to the rocks and then again to the tree, repeating in disbelief for minutes.

Then out of nowhere, his hand comes into contact with his face, an ear shattering crack echoes across the valley as he slaps the living daylight out of himself.

"Fuck you!" Kronos shouts, his profanities rattling across the airways in the skies above, hissing at the pain - like a thousand tiny irons scalding him in his cheek. He's thankful that he's woken up from hallucinating, but now he wants to send a death sentence to the Primordials.

* * *

Back at the pavilion, the gods and demigods are a mess,  _literally_. Watching on in hysterics at the new miserable life Kronos has.

"Oh my gods!" Annabeth cries out, bursting into a fit of laughter, slapping her hand on the table, Dionysus choking on the wine he's drinking as they watch Kronos smash the lights out of himself. Zeus is the background snickering with laughter watching his father go mentally insane.

"Why the Hades is he slapping himself?" Apollo cries out in between his laughter, wiping his eyes from the tears that are continuously falling. If phones had a new crying with laughter emoji, it would definitely be Apollo's face at the present moment.

The room is suddenly filled with darkness, the shadows clawing at the light as the said god appears at the mention of his name.

"Don't you dare swear under my name," Hades glares at Apollo, before he turns and breaks into a fit of laughter when he sees Kronos on the screen screaming profanities at literally no one. "What the Tartarus?!"

"THIS NEEDS TO GO ON TWITTER!" Percy yells falling backwards off his chair in hysterics, a babbling mess from the circus act.

"You can't do that Seaweed Brain remember?" Annabeth rolls her eyes at Percy, still grinning.

To the gods and demigods, they couldn't see what Kronos saw through his own eyes. So they concluded that Kronos had officially lost his marbles…

_And it hadn't even been one full day yet._

* * *

Just before nightfall, Kronos crests over the top of a hill, feeling immense relief when he sets his eyes on a city spread out below him. He soon realises that it's abandoned, ruined husks of former buildings blackened from the heat of the days and no fires burning to mark mortals living there. But he doesn't worry about that, he's only worried about getting shelter, no matter where it is.

As if to encourage him forwards, the sky opens its doors of misery and rain splatters over him. Kronos grumbles, cursing profanities at the Primordials and the gods as he trudges towards the ruined city. He doesn't know exactly where he is, but doesn't particularly care either.

Sleep, then he'll worry about where he is.

With whatever is left of Kronos' sanity, he vaguely remembers to grab some wood for a fire to keep himself warm, before nudging open a rotting door in one of the houses out the outskirts of the city. He drops his pack down, puts Backbiter beside it and arranges the tinder.

Kronos snaps his fingers to start the fire. Once. Twice. Three times.

"You little shit hole!" Instantly, curses fly from his lips when nothing happens. He was  _utterly_ powerless, no better than a mere feeble mortal. He lets out a long sigh, groaning as he ponders on how to start the fire by hand -  _if he's lucky_.

Only a few minutes later he curses again and drops the tinder he'd been using, having no luck whatsoever.

"Fuck luck," Kronos hisses as he reaches over to his pack and grabs a chunk of the bread, forlornly chewing at the food, murderously glaring at the treacherous tinder, hoping it would spontaneously burst into flames like mortals used to do around him.

After his impromptu meal, he picks up the tinder and tries again.

Once again, he soon gives up, the tinder being an utter bastard to him. Kronos pissed, he retreats to a corner, dragging his pack with him and putting Backbiter at his side, the dagger hidden beneath his plain shirt.

How was he supposed to sleep? It wasn't like immortals  _needed_ to sleep, they simply kept their energy up with copious amounts of ambrosia and nectar, so Kronos had never really slept before. He drops his head back to rest against the wall behind him and shuts his eyes.

Though his brain wasn't done with him just yet.

_The two Primordials appear in his mind, stood there in the darkness mocking Kronos' now impotent being. Kronos' face twists with fury as he watches their faces cackling in pure delight, their mangled laughs taunting him. And before you know it, Kronos snaps, his face is straining as he imagines hammering the pricks with his bare hands. His face begins to grin in his sleep, as he smashes punches into Chaos' face repeatedly, golden ichor splattering the Primordial's face, choking him. He considers whether or not on choking the Primordial to death._

* * *

"Kronos seems to be having pleasant dreams," Percy states, as a matter of fact, watching the mortal Titan's various expressions whilst he's sleeping.

"I don't even want to think about what he's dreaming about," Thalia says blankly, cringing at the awkward disturbing thought.

* * *

_Chronos appears behind about to nail him in the back out of revenge, but Kronos is one step ahead, twisting a split second beforehand and kneeing the Primordial where the sun don't shine. He sees Chronos wither on the invisible floor beneath him, laughing at the Primordial's painful discomfort, to say the least. He's about to smash another kick into Chronos' ribs -_

Kronos wakes suddenly, struggling to remember what happened before he fell asleep, but those thoughts are wiped from his mind when he hears voices. Kronos wraps his hand around the hilt of Backbiter, slowly making his way to his feet. His mind is groggy and scrambling to recover from just having been sleeping.

He slips his pack over his shoulder and nudges the door open, peering out of the house and noting that the streets are completely deserted.

Cautiously, he lifts his sword as he slips out of the house, intent on finding out who's in the city with him, even though his eyes are deceiving him. He shivers involuntarily, his body now cold from the lack of warmth he'd had during the night, but still, he follows the voices. Every step he takes, they grow louder, their laughter making his face slightly twitch out of anger. He hated laughter that wasn't his,  _he was the only one who'd be left laughing at the end of this._

He turns a corner, stumbling across a group of men sat around a blazing fire, the crackling of their tinder and their voices looming over the deserted city. He scans over the men, noting that they're armed, every single one of them with a sword. They didn't come alone, as Kronos spots several horses tied to posts scattered around and picks out a black stallion amongst them. His eyes narrow, suddenly alert as the hair on the back of his neck stands on end from the threat they pose to him now he's not immortal.

There's the whisper of steel on steel from behind him, then something cold presses against the back of his neck. "What's a boy like you doing out here in Bhorash?"

"Fuck," Kronos swears under his breath, slowly turning around. He keeps Backbiter down by his side not wanting to draw attention to it, for now. The man behind him grins and prods him with his sword, causing Kronos to step back into the light of the fire, into the line of sight of the men by the fire. He clears his throat. "I was just passing through," he informs them, struggling to stop his teeth from chattering in the cold. "Sleeping in one of the houses."

He's well aware of the other armed men standing up behind him, one of them making their way over. "That's a nice sword," he comments.

Fortunately, Kronos still has his instincts. He knows not to let them get too close. Kronos raises Backbiter, even as another man approaches.

The man snorts. "Put the sword down, boy. You'll just get hurt."

Kronos bristles, anger brewing in his stomach. How  _dare_ they? "Make me," he bites out, gritting his teeth.

Several of the men draw swords at his threat.

_Well fuck._

Kronos tightens his grip, letting his pack drop to the ground - it would only slow him down. He's ready for the first man to attack, the one still holding him at swordpoint. Kronos ducks under the pathetic swing, throwing himself to the side and shifting the position of Backbiter so it tears a small cut along the man's side.

The man spins around to face Kronos, eyes now slits, the others moving in towards him. Kronos sets his back to a house, eyes narrowing as he waits for the next attack. He's not wearing any armour, so he has the advantage of being fast, but a single hit could take him down - he needs to be cautious.

The sound of metal on metal echoes around as Kronos blocks the next strike, grunting as the man pushes him back - so much for immortal strength. Kronos lifts his sword to parry the next cut into the ground, turning to slam the pommel of Backbiter into the man's nose in retaliation. Red blood falls out of the man's nose like a waterfall and a satisfying crack is heard of the man's nose breaking to Kronos' joy.

* * *

"Yes Kronos!" Hecate shouts, edging Kronos on as she's throwing punches in mid-air.

"You support this guy?" Hermes snaps, shooting daggers at the said goddess of magic.

"You wanna go?" Hecate rises from her chair walking over to Hermes, sizing him up. "Team Kronos all the way!"

"You little-" Hermes is cut short as he throws the first punch at Hecate.

"Fight! Fight! Fight!" Suddenly, chants echo across the pavilion at the two immortals now in a deadlock with each other on the floor, strangling each other and continuously brawling punches left, right and centre.

"Seriously?!" Annabeth facepalms at the two fights that have simultaneously broken out of hand.

* * *

Kronos holds the dozen men off for several more long and exciting minutes, his back to the wall, but then Backbiter gets locked with another blade and while Kronos struggles to disentangle them, a fist gets slammed into his mortal face. He feels his nose break, blood trickling down onto his lips and chin as his sword slips from his hand and he staggers back against the wall behind.  _Karma is certainly a bitch._

He growls and takes out his dagger as he throws himself at one of the men, unerringly plunging the blade into his throat. The pleasurable sound of the mortal screaming rings in his ears, slick crimson blood coats the dagger and his hand. When Kronos pulls it back, turning to face the other men, a sword's hilt gets rammed into his chin. Kronos' head is knocked to the side, blood splattering over his face, his nose also throbbing with pain.

* * *

The demigods flinch at Kronos getting slammed in the chin.

"Kronos!" Hecate's cry echoes out across the pavilion as she blocks one of Hermes punches to her ribs just in time.

* * *

Kronos determined not to back down just yet as he keeps himself on his feet, keeping the dagger up as the men circle him.

Each time one of them attacks, brazenly swinging their swords like mad men, Kronos counters with rapid strikes; though he doesn't last much longer.

Kronos is eventually tackled to the ground, landing with a grunt as blood, bone and dirt mingle in his mouth. He forces his hands beneath him, his blood coursing with pure rage and starts to lift himself up, until he feels a sharp kick into his side knocking the wind out of him. The man who'd tackled him pries the dagger from his grasp as he keeps Kronos pinned down.

The man above him grunts as Kronos tries to twist out of his grip. "Someone grab the rope," he orders.

Kronos snarls and turns, twisting his body until he has a free hand which he uses to try to tear himself out of the man's grip. In response, several more of the mortals pin him down, though he's now on his back. The former immortal spits at the mortal holding him down, causing the man to rear back and punch him in the face. One of the men has his knee pressed into Kronos' stomach and holds his own dagger to his throat, two others hold down his struggling limbs. Kronos grits his teeth as a mortal lumbers over with a length of rope, crouching and tightly binding his hands together.

* * *

Hermes stops, midway through his final brawl looking towards the screen at Kronos' puny defeat. He turns back towards Hecate watching her face dim at Kronos' loss.

"Looks like it's one - nil to Team Olympus," Hermes smirks, recoiling away from Hecate's body on the floor, dusting himself and walks calmly back to his seat.

"It's not over yet," Hecate wipes her nose of ichor sputtering out everywhere, before getting up and sitting back down in her chair sending death glares at Hermes. Hermes scoffs at her claim, turning back to watch a broken Kronos.

* * *

Kronos lets his head drop back onto the ground with a long sigh as the men get off him.

"So," one of the men says as he picks up Backbiter, waving the steel blade in Kronos' face, "where'd a boy like you get a blade like this?"

"None of your business," Kronos sneers. He gets a kick in his side at the attitude he shows to the men, making him hiss and curl up slightly. It's just his luck that he gets stuck with abusive assholes.

The man shakes his head, standing up with Backbiter in hand. "Alright," he says calmly, before nodding to his allies. "Move him over to the fire, the boy's shivering."

Kronos glares at the man who grabs him and hauls him to his feet. "I can walk myself," he growls.

"And risk you running?" he asks with a grin. "Why'd we do that?"

They left the man Kronos had killed lying on the ground, shoving Kronos over to the fire. Instantly, the heat washed over Kronos like a slap across the face - and he'd been slapped many times in his long life by a certain indignant Titaness - and he regrets giving up on his fire.

Kronos isn't expecting to be kicked behind his knees. He grunts, putting his hands out in front of him as he drops. His ankles are swiftly bound together, like his hands, the rope digging into his mortal body flinching at the pain. The man who'd dragged him over to the fire tosses the remainder of the rope to the man with Backbiter, the end binding his ankles.

Kronos' eyes narrow at the men. He would have slaughtered them in a billion ways making them beg for  _mercy_  if he had his immortality - but at the present moment, he didn't.

The man studies Backbiter with a critical eye. "This blade," he repeats, "where did it come from?" When Kronos doesn't answer, he sighs. "Look, boy," he says, leaning forwards getting a better look at Kronos' bloody and battered face, "it would be a good idea to answer our questions. We're letting you sit by our fire," he pauses briefly, lifting an eyebrow. "And you're not going anywhere anytime soon."

Kronos' jaw flexes when he hears his destined fate.

"How about this then?" the man says. "Where did you learn to fight like that? You're what? Seven and ten - eight and ten?"

"I taught myself," Kronos says, his tone flat. He's not an idiot and stuck as a mortal, with his hands and feet bound together, with his weapons taken and his food now also taken, he's at their mercy. And it stings deep inside to hear those thoughts - that he's at the mercy of anyone else, even more so mortals - but he'll have to survive.

The man seems suddenly even more interested. "Really?" he muses.

Kronos nods stiffly.

"Do you know who we are, boy?"

"Kronos," Kronos states, correcting him. He wasn't a boy,  _he was a supposed King._

"Alright, Kronos," he says sharing an amused glance with his friends. "Do you know who we are?"

"I can guess," Kronos remarks, nodding to the rope binding his wrists and ankles, to the length of rope linking him to the man talking. "Slavers."

The man grins. "Good in a fight  _and_ clever. But it's more like we sell to the slavers and they sell on. Lucky for you," he continues, "there's a ship not far from here. We'll get our money for you and hand you over." He smiles, looking expectantly at Kronos for a reaction of some sort - other than the calmness he'd been showing before.

Kronos, not the idiot the slavers wanted him to be, realises this and works to keep his expression calm, despite the raging storm inside him. So he would be sold to slavers, and they'd sell him on to whoever bid the highest. Vaguely, Kronos remembers slavers and slaves during Ancient Rome, Greece and the period in which he ruled. Kronos looks towards the man. "I can't imagine you'll sell me with blood over my face, and an obviously broken nose and cracked jaw."

The slaver's eyes narrow at Kronos, before he turns to the other slavers. "Get some sleep." He nods towards Kronos. "The boy's not going anywhere."

The slavers mumble their agreement, retreating to their rolls laid out over the floor, but not before a stray boot catches Kronos in the stomach causing Kronos to choke out blood and another in his back, knocking him over. Kronos hisses as his cracked jaw and nose collide with the ground.

"Don't worry, boy. You'll look presentable by the time we meet with the boat."

That wasn't Kronos' concern. It was more that the blood was still trickling down his face and he detested the taste of blood,  _mortal blood_. The thought was dashed from his mind as another boot catches him in his injured, unprotected stomach. He forces himself to bite back a cry of pain.

At least, Kronos thinks, he's not shivering anymore.


	3. Chapter 3

Morning brought throbbing pain. And along with throbbing pain came  _fire, blood and anguish_.

His stomach aches, his nose, jaw and generally  _everything in his pathetic mortal body aches_.

Kronos takes in a deep breath and promptly winces at the pain in his lungs from the battering he took the day before. Slowly, he moves stiffly to lift up the bottom of his shirt, revealing the dark purple bruises littering his stomach. He exhales and rolls over, moving to sit up. The slavers are already awake around him, packing up their gear and dampening down the fire. The length of rope around his ankles has rubbed him raw during the night, as has the one around his wrists, the pink flesh of his mortal body evident from his struggling. He's currently bound to a spike set into the ground by the length around his ankles.

He waits until he's approached by the slaver, looking up at the man as another man takes the spike out of the ground and rolls up the rope, handing it to the slaver. His ankles are untied, but before he can even try anything the length of rope is tied securely to his wrists.

The slaver doesn't say anything, he simply turns and makes his way over to the horses, leaving Kronos to clamber to his feet and stagger helplessly after them. He spies Backbiter and his pack tied down on the back of the black horse he'd thought of stealing the night before. The black horse must belong to the man he killed, Kronos muses.

"On the horse," the slaver orders, gesturing with a hand. "We don't have time for you to walk behind us."

Kronos winces as he does as ordered, his bruised stomach paining him. He struggles initially, trying to mount the stallion, but once he's settled on the horse, they move off riding towards the beach.

Every so often, Kronos grimaces as his stomach is jostled, and he can certainly feel the throbbing pain from his nose and jaw. He ponders at the thought of escaping, he's on his horse - which he's now claimed as his, but it's pointless, knowing that his hands are bound and the slaver has the other end of the  _fucking_  rope. He sighs in exasperation

Several long and boring hours after they set off, the men pause for lunch. Kronos bristles as they take food out of his pack, leaving him tied next to the horses, and tuck into the meagre amount. Even more importantly, Kronos' stomach rumbles.

The slaver glances over at him, smiling. "Hungry?" he calls.

Kronos had only had a small piece of bread the night before, and nothing that morning. They had been riding for several hours in intense heat. Of course, he was bloody hungry. He nods slightly in response.

The slaver just continues smiling, "Good."

A million insults run through Kronos' brain as he watches the slaver taunt him, stuffing the last of the food in his mouth, smirking at Kronos with a stuffed face. Kronos groans shutting his eyes, letting his head drop back against the log they'd bound him to. The sun smoulders down upon him, cracking his lips and leaching water from his body.

"Boy."

He cracks open an eye, jerking upright when he sees the flask of water in the slaver's hand. He drinks slowly, expecting there to be little water. If they're not giving him food, then they'd give him the bare minimum of water too. There's a little under three mouthfuls left in the flask, enough to leave him wanting more and not enough to quench his thirst.

* * *

"Jeez that's harsh," Annabeth watches on, Hecate nodding in agreement with her. "He's not gonna last three days at max."

"It's what he deserves." Zeus spits out, folding his hands and rolling his eyes at his father's patheticness. "A taste of the mortal life."

* * *

A few minutes later, and Kronos is untied from the log. He struggles back onto the horse, the men waiting impatiently.

The dependency of a mortal body on food and water was catching him off-guard.  _More than expected._  It was a lot easier for an immortal to refuse food and water; they didn't need it to survive.

The heat saps at his strength.

Every time the men stop, they replenish their energy with food and copious amounts of water, but only allow Kronos no more than three mouthfuls of water. They consistently refuse him food.

By the end of the day, Kronos doesn't bother to resist when they drag him over to the fire they'd started, nor when they bind his ankles together again. But he twitches violently, mouth snapping open and a furious curse flying from his lips when he feels a hand thrust down the back of his pants. He shoots daggers at the surrounding men as snickers erupt from the men around him, but they make no other move otherwise to touch him.

The slaver takes the end of the long rope again, wrapping it around his hand so he has a secure hold on Kronos before he is finally given water again.

Any resemblance of food is still absent as Kronos slips into a fitful sleep.

In the morning, the men untie his ankles and lead him straight to the horses again.

They curve towards the sea.

It takes Kronos several seconds to remember that the Primordials have no true influence over this world; he doubts his Uncle Pontus would be able to kill him -  _saving him from this misery_. A hiss escapes his clenched teeth as he's pulled off the horse, landing on the sand with a solid thud. He's practically dragged to his feet, before the men march him down the beach towards the sea.

Once in the surf, they force him to his knees. Kronos is held still as they use the seawater to wash away the dried and crusted blood over his face. After several long minutes of choking and spitting seawater and blood out of his mouth, the slaver grabs his chin and studies him. His nose is still swollen and broken, and it hurts to breathe through it.

Kronos yelps out -  _bastard_ he curses in his head, as the slaver breaks it back into a normal position, blood again trickling down. One of the men starts wiping the new blood away with the seawater, but the slaver stops him as he scans Kronos' cracked jaw - the only reason he'd been so quiet the past day.

"That can stay as it is," the slaver remarks, brushing a finger down Kronos' jaw.

The former deity jerks away from the offending finger, but only glares at the mortal.

"The ship's waiting for us around the corner," the slaver says as he stands, making his way back up the sand to the horses and waiting men. "I've no doubt Malko will pay a good price for the boy."

The length of rope which Kronos is really starting to hate - really wanting to strangle the assholes with - is handed back to the slaver, and the men help Kronos back onto the horse. Kronos - thirsty and starving - lets his head drop to rest on his chest, watching the ground beneath him as they trot north-east up the coast.

Sure enough, when they round a headland Kronos sees the ship anchored offshore, a small rowing boat on the beach.

The slaver dismounts. "Off the horse, boy," he orders, reaching for Kronos' sword and dagger. They'd broken Kronos' bow, used it for kindling for the fire and had decided to keep the dozen or so arrows of his. Kronos had nothing left except his precious Backbiter and the dagger.

Kronos dismounts and is promptly unceremoniously tugged over to the rowing boat and the dark-skinned slaver standing beside it.

"Malko," the slaver greets. He doesn't wait for Malko to respond, instead turning to nod towards Kronos. "We found the boy two nights ago - skulking around our camp. He took out one of my men, and held the rest of us off for almost fifteen minutes."

Malko - the captain of the slaver ship - studies Kronos. "How old is he?"

The slaver shrugs. "He hasn't yet said." He gestures towards Kronos' jaw. "He took a few hits in the face from my men."

Malko nods slightly. "Seven golden honours."

The slaver scowls, yanking Kronos to his knees with the length of rope. "He's worth at least nine!"

"Eight," Malko says, his lips firmly pressed together, wanting to secure a good offer.

"Deal." Kronos is kicked forward from the slaver behind him, falling to his hands. The slaver hands over the rope to Malko, Kronos is dragged up by the rope binding his wrists, and the money is exchanged. The slaver - fortunately - hands Backbiter and the dagger to Malko. "These are his."

Malko drops them into the rowing boat as the slaver retreats back up the beach.

Kronos is pulled closer to Malko, the rope gathered up in the dark-skinned slaver's hand. Malko doesn't say anything, he only passes the rope on to another slaver at his side who pulls Kronos right over to the boat and takes hold of him. Kronos tenses at the touch, as he's pushed into the little rowing boat.

A hiss escapes him as he's shoved over to drop onto one of the benches.

He sighs when he's tied to a little iron ring in the hull of the boat, hunched over due to the non-existent slack in the rope. His wrists give him burning pain, rubbed raw from the two days of constant chafing - he was sure his hands would fall off his mortal body at any given time.

"How old are you, boy?" Malko demands as they set off towards the ship anchored offshore.

Kronos blatantly refuses to answer, keeping his mouth firmly shut. Malko nods to the man across from Kronos, the one who'd tied him down. He punches Kronos in the gut, causing him to grunt and double over as much as he can, the pain from his previous abuse increasing tenfold. He gasps in precious oxygen, the air burning his parched throat.

"It would be wise to listen to us, boy," Malko states. "Since you'll be with us until you're bought."

Kronos considers his options, which are practically non-existent. His eyes bore slits at the man. "Fuck off." He wasn't going to bow and scrape at this dark-skinned mortal's feet.  _That was beneath him_.

Malko merely shakes his head, looking up at the boat as they pull alongside. Kronos is untied from the little rowing boat and led onto the deck. Malko frowns at him, noting his defiance, yet how he sags as he stands. "Someone get him water and food," he orders.

Kronos is surprised when he gets handed an entire flask, half empty, but still sufficient to finally quench his thirst. The bread is stale and almost rock solid, but it's food so he stuffs it down his oesophagus hungrily. After Kronos has eaten, he washes the stale bread down with the water. His eyes narrow suspiciously as he watches Malko walk down the deck of the ship, studying the various slaves manning the oars of the ship.

The former immortal stiffens when he sees a slaver approaching with a thick, black metal collar and manacles. Instantly, he tries to jerk away from the men holding him, but one grabs his cracked jaw to keep him still and a hiss of pain escapes him.

The collar snaps shut around his throat, a cold and heavy weight that settles on the top of his shoulders. He lets out a wordless roar, twisting before they can snap the manacles around his wrists and punches the man within the closest vicinity to him. It's hard to punch with his hands bound, but Kronos manages well, shattering the man's nose.

The other slaves on the deck watch on emotionlessly, the ones rowing not daring to falter in their rhythm.

"I'm not a slave," Kronos snarls furiously.  _He was a King!_

" _Let me go_." The slavers ignore his order, much to his chagrin. Kronos growls when hands grab him. "Get off -  _damn it -_ you bastards!" He jerks around and throws another punch, again aiming for the face.

A grunt escapes his lips when one of the slavers use the chain attached to the collar to pull him back.

"Fuck off," Kronos snarls at them, struggling in their grasp. His eyes flick furiously back and forth judging the number of men now surrounding him.

"The boy is as useless as nipples on a breastplate," one of the slavers laughs at him, throwing a kick into Kronos' ribs.

"You little cunt!" Kronos hisses at the fury erupting in the side of his body. The slaver spits at his face in retaliation, taking a few steps back as Kronos staggers forward, forcing himself away from the slaver that's holding him back.

"Guess who's the whimpering cunt 'ere?" the slaver smirks, cocking his head to the side.

"Curse you to the depths of fucking Tartarus and back!" Kronos' voice is harsh, finding every single possible way to insult the slaver's dignity. The last thing he wanted to do was return to Tartarus, at least he'd send a few fucking mortals in his wake from this hellworld he was in, back to the Primordial's company - and not himself.

The slaver spits out a laugh, ignoring the former Titan and not having a clue on what Kronos was saying, "There is no cure to being a cunt." He turns, walking away from Kronos, not giving a shit about his morals. "You'll have to do better than that."

"Fuck you and your tiny little cock," Kronos bites out sharply. That certainly draws the slaver's attention as he stops, turning to face Kronos' ungodly body. He paces over to Kronos, bile in his veins, directly looking the former immortal in his haunting gold eyes.

* * *

"Ooooh burn," Hecate hisses out, a predatory smile sent in Hermes direction as he glares back at her.

The pavilion is in absolute silence as the gods and demigods watch eagerly at the  _shit_  that is about to break out.

"This should be entertaining," Ares cracks his knuckles, leaning in intently.

* * *

"Say that again," the slaver bites out, his offence showing in the sting of the syllables that drop from the trap on his face.

Kronos smirks, seeing as he's finally popped a vein. He leans in, his face mere inches away from the slaver's deathly face.

"Fuck you," he pauses, gold pools glaring at the slaver's green ones, "and your tiny little cock."

An unearthly silence engulfs the deck as the standoff continues between the pair. Not a word is said as the men stare on blankly having seen a fellow slaver insulted in such a way. No one dares laugh or snicker, or it'd be their neck on the line -  _balls indeed included_.

The pair stand there, minutes pass as eyes are locked on each other seeing who would  _lose it_  first. The slaver clenches his jaw, pissed and staring on at Kronos' cooly collected form. Kronos holds his ground for a few moments, not giving in. Oh, how he just wanted to headbutt the shit out of the slaver in front of him right now. But just as tempting as it seemed to be, he controls his temper - for once.

"Seize him," the slaver growls losing it at Kronos' cocky expression. Men throw themselves at Kronos' form pinning him down to the ground. Kronos struggles under the pile of mortals on top of him, rendering him immobile. He spits in a couple of their faces, blinding them momentarily, as the slaver he had merely insulted moments ago returns.

Kronos eyes widen at the object in his hands, the manacles he was struggling to avoid. One of the slavers pins his head down to the wooden deck of the ship, his arms pinned beneath his own bulk. His torso is kept pinned down as his head is pulled up. The slaver Kronos had insulted abruptly produces a strip of leather from apparently nowhere, and forces it into Kronos' mouth. The ends are tied tightly behind his head, almost tight enough to give him an instant migraine.

Whilst Kronos is distracted with the taste of the leather - cured in cow's shit - suddenly shoved into his mouth, the slavers take hold of his arms and pull them out from under him. He shakes his head and lets out a muffled growl, struggling against them. But he's only mortal, and cannot hope to take down the several men holding him down. The rope binding his wrists is swapped for the metal manacles, the cold biting into the raw skin beneath. A short chain links the two manacles together.

"Bring him over here," Malko's voice calls. "We'll swap this one out," he adds, gesturing to a slave who looks half-dead as he rows.

 _No. Great Chaos, no._  Kronos thinks, his eyes widening. The slavers all get off him, allowing him to put his hands beneath himself. He's unsteady on his feet, but isn't given time before he's pulled over to Malko by the chain. He inhales through his nose, only to flinch slightly - his nose is still healing and it hurts to breathe.

Malko roars for the slaves to stop rowing.

As Kronos watches, the slavers detach the slave from the oar and the line of slaves. The former Titan resists when they try to drag him over, only to promptly be pulled over by the chain, the metal of the collar digging into the base of his neck, making him slightly choke on the oxygen he gasps for. He shifts when they tie him to the other slaves, his chain attaching to the back of the collar of the slave in front of him, and the slave behind him being tied to the back of Kronos' collar.

His jaw tightens when the chain link between his wrists is untied from one manacle, trailed through the metal ring struck into the oar, and then tied back to the manacle. Leaving him bound to the oar.

With him securely tied to the oar, the slavers lumber off.

Malko smiles, putting a foot up on the edge of the rower's bench and leaning towards Kronos. "We're heading to Volantis, boy. That's a long row. When you stop fucking about, we'll take that off," he says, gesturing to the leather gag.

Kronos' eyes narrow at him and his hands fist against the smooth wooden handle of the oar.  _Fucking bastard._

Malko apparently knows what Kronos is thinking, because his eyes narrow at Kronos in return. Then he smiles faintly before his hand collides with Kronos' cheekbone. Kronos' head jerks back from the force, snapping his head back to see the slaver already turning away from Kronos, making his way back up the deck. His sharp golden eyes glare holes into the slaver's back, wanting to stuff his hand down the slaver's throat and rip his guts out through his own mouth - though that was impossible with the manacles he was forced to wear.

Malko calls for rowing to begin again, only this time former  _Lord of Time_  is amongst the rowers.

Kronos continues to give death stares at the slaver, willing him to spontaneously combust into a pile of ashes - as expected, nothing happens, but it was worth the try.

A muffled grunt tears from Kronos' throat, as he feels a whip collide with his back, ripping the thin fabric of his measly t-shirt open - the solid force making him hiss and twist away from the leather whip responsible. His flesh ignites as if it's literally on fire suffering from the agony, even though he's still wearing his thin t-shirt - or was wearing what remained of his t-shirt - not giving him any protection at all.

His fingers curl, digging into the wood as he clenches the oar he's chained to, trying to withstand the affliction he has to put up with. Kronos hisses, feeling the slick warmth of his mortal red blood trickle down his back, staining the remnants of the clothes he wore.

Having a body that was intentionally just a sack of meat that was being worn, this savagery was brutal to him - but he'd felt worse in his long existence. Zeus  _had_ cut him into a million little pieces before. Of course, a mortal body was far less forgiving and a cut throat was bound to kill him, not merely slow him down.

Before Kronos can start moving to row, the whip again cracks down, only this time on his unprotected stomach. His stomach which is already mottled with a palette of different colours from all the abuse over the past few days and Kronos is sure that he's got a fractured rib somewhere in there too. He cries out against the foul leather gag, the pain already in his stomach flaring up angrily, making him clench his abdominal muscles involuntarily when the whip ruptures him once more. Kronos inhales sharply, even though he struggles to draw breath into his lungs and starts rowing obediently, perfectly in time with the other slaves.

The slaver who'd whipped him into action walks away down the line of slaves, pausing to crack the whip against the back of another slave further up the line. Kronos glares daggers at him, wanting to throw a pitchfork into the man's back.

But he can do nothing, chained to the oar as he is.

The leather gag in his mouth tastes foul, the taste of cow-shit instinctively making him want to retch, drying his throat out even faster and the sun overhead in the sky isn't warming up to him anytime soon. Well, it was warming up to him - making him bloody shrivel up, but it wasn't warming up to him in the case that they'd be friends anytime soon.

Kronos angrily draws the oar back to his chest, fighting against the force of the sea to do so, and knows that he is thoroughly beaten. He cannot hope to escape as he is.

He inwardly curses the god of the sun and sea -  _Apollo and Poseidon_ , knowing they won't hear him.

* * *

Back at the pavilion, the two said gods rise from their chairs, looking towards each other.

"I have the sudden urge to kill that guy." they say simultaneously, both pointing a finger at Kronos on the screen.

"Why?" Percy and Will both look towards their dads in utter confusion.

"You'll understand when you're older," the pair of gods grumble, before taking their seats again, Percy's and Will's face blank at their dads' comment.

* * *

Kronos glances to his left, towards the mast of the ship and the slave chained down who had previously been rowing where he currently was. In doing so, he slows his movements slightly when he catches the other slave's eyes. Unfortunately, a slaver behind him notices the change in pace.

 _Fucking cunt_ , Kronos snarls as another whip cracks against his back.

He pours his anger into rowing.


End file.
